SONG. FOR THE ANNIVERSARY MEETING OF THE PITT CLUB OF SCOTLAND. [1814.] O, DREAD was the time, and more dreadful the omen, When the brave on Marengo lay slaughter'd in vain, And beholding broad Europe bow'd down by her foemen, PITT closed in his anguish the map of her reign! Not the fate of broad Europe could bend his brave spirit To take for his country the safety of shame; O, then in her triumph remember his merit, Round the husbandman's head, while he traces the furrow, The mists of the winter may mingle with rain, He may plough it with labour, and sow it in sorrow, And sigh while he fears he has sow'd it in vain; Ee may fe are his children shall reap in their glad And their bee-shout shall be soften'd with sadness, While they halow the goblet that flows to his Though anxious and timeless his life was expended, Nor forget His grey head, who, all dark in affliction, name. Yet again fill the wine-cup, and change the sad measure, The rites of our grief and our gratitude paid, To our Prince, to our Heroes, devote the bright treasure, The wisdom that plann'd, and the zeal that obey'd! Fill WELLINGTON's cup till it beam like his glory, Forget not our own brave DALHOUSIE and GRÆME; A thousand years hence hearts shall bound at their story, And hallow the goblet that flows to their fame. From the brown crest of Newark its summons extending. Our signal is waving in smoke and in flame ; And each forester blithe, from his mountain descend ing. Bounds light o'er the heather to join in the game, CHORUS. Then up with the Banner, let forest winds fan her, '[This song appears with music in Mr G. Thomson's Collection --1826. The foot-ball match on which it was written took place on December 5, 1815, and was also celebrated by the Ettrick Shepherd.] When the Southern invader spread waste and disorder, At the glance of her crescents he paused and with drew, For around them were marshall'd the pride of the Border, The Flowers of the Forest, the Bands of BucCLEUCH. Then up with the Banner, &c. A Stripling's weak hand1 to our revel has borne her, No mail-glove has grasp'd her, no spearmen sur round; But ere a bold foeman should scathe or should scorn her, A thousand true hearts would be cold on the ground. Then up with the Banner, &c. We forget each contention of civil dissension, And ELLIOT and PRINGLE in pastime shall mingle, Then strip, lads, and to it though sharp be the weather, And if, by mischance, you should happen to fall, [The bearer of the standard was the Author's eldest son.] |